


The Sun Is Shining But The Weather Ain't Sweet

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Quests, Solarpunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First piece of a long fic. </p><p>Set in a solarpunk AU for Midgard; Loki and Thor are forced to travel down in order to retrieve an enchanted object for Odin Allfather. Midgard is not at all what they expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Is Shining But The Weather Ain't Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm gonna tag for characters with each new chapter. It's going to be a wide-ranging universe with the inclusion of different Marvel characters _not_ strictly adhering to the canon of any of the particular comic 'verses _or_ the films only. For example, next chapter Pietro Maximoff is going to become involved, and I'll probably spread out a bit with how the solarpunk universe incorporates certain things.
> 
> This is going to be long. The plan is already very long indeed.

“After all these years, you yet think that you can best me in combat, brother!” Loki says brightly from two feet to the left of the space Thor had just lunged through, falling for another of his illusions. _Damn_ the man. 

“I think so yet because I _can!_ ” Thor says, and he throws Mjolnir as he pushes himself up from the ground: Loki's eyes widen comically before he dodges to the side and Mjolnir flies true until returning to Thor's hand. It's necessary for Thor to think quickly in spars like this, if one can call it a spar.

“Can you indeed?” Loki's voice comes from behind him, so Thor rapidly removes the red cape on his shoulders from his back and throws it forwards. His brother's grunt is muffled by the cloth until Thor tackles him to the ground, and Loki lets out a cry of protest as Thor pulls the cape down from his head and beams at the other man despite the scowl on Loki's face.

“Indeed I can.” Thor says, and Loki sighs.

“You are improving.” The smaller man says grudgingly, and he knees Thor in the thigh for him to stand and allow Loki freedom to get to his own feet. He _is_ smaller than Thor: although Loki is a tall man, he is more slender, and the muscle he carries is lighter than Thor's own. He does not often make use of what weight he has, with no need for bulkier muscle: he uses his magic, his illusions.

When Loki utilizes the battleaxe in his service, it is for show. His true preference is for his daggers, his poisons, his magical speed – even his own nails where he fights like a wildcat captured.

One might call them women's weapons, but Thor has learned better than to think so. Frigga and Sif have taught him well.

Thor pushes himself up, and he offers Loki a hand to get up. Loki takes it, and Thor pulls him up, ignoring his cape as it is thrown aside: he has another idea in mind. He begins to tickle Loki through his clothes, delighting in the ability to do so when the other man is not wearing armour, and Loki yelps like a pup, trying to struggle out of the other man's hold.

“Release me!” He says through laughter, and Thor laughs himself as he continues, and then he squeezes the other man about the chest, pinning him to Thor's body as he kicks his legs. “ _Thor_ -”

“Why is it when my gaze falls upon you, you are always wrestling? You are like the wolf cubs.” Sif says, and Loki takes advantage of Thor's surprise to pull away from his brother, his hands moving up to his hair and combing through it to fix its new muss.

“My lady Sif, that is not so.” Loki says with his silver, adder's tongue – Thor feels a twinge of jealousy although he knows that Sif holds no especial love for his brother's speech. “I am surely a grown wolf to be victimized by the new cub: I am merely merciful until I lose my patience.”

Sif snorts, and Thor punches Loki hard in the arm, affecting the other man to hiss at him.

“Loki, you are the snake in the grass the cub finds with which to play. No wolf are you.” She says, her lip twitching, and Loki is affronted as she walks away, his mouth opens and he stares after her. Thor tries to smile at him, but Loki storms into the Asgardian halls, and will not look his brother's way. He feels a twinge of something displeased, but Sif's retort had been well-delivered, despite not being well-met.

Loki has said things to Sif far worse than this: the sharp word was deserved, Thor thinks. Loki does not treat women as he ought.

“How do you fare?” Thor asks, turning to Sif. She is as radiant as ever, and she is a strong warrior. Thor carries much admiration for her skill in battle – among many of his fellows, Thor often wins in one-to-one spars. This is, perhaps, because many are wary of harming the son of Odin, as well as with Thor's own skill in mind. But with Sif, and with Loki, the matches are always even: neither hold back with him, and both are very capable.

Sif more so, he thinks. Sif battles without trickery. And Sif is in better tempers than Loki, as a rule.

“I am well!” She says lightly, and her smile is warm: Thor smiles too, because it pleases him to see her so happy. Her hair is thick and dark – it is not like the golden curls she once more, but it suits her still. And Loki's trick, cruel and jealous though it might have been, led to her becoming the mighty warrior she is today.

Not excusable, perhaps, but not something one might reverse lightly. “I have been training today, in the outer reaches. You were sparring alongside Loki?”

“That is so.” Thor nods. “I enjoy fighting him.” Sif hums, but she says nothing.

“Let us move inside.” She says, and Thor walks alongside her proudly after picking his cape from the ground. He had ripped it in his wrestle with Loki, he thinks; he will ask the other to mend it later on. He wonders, vaguely, if Loki will insist on some sort of exchange before he will do so. “Balder!” She says brightly, and the other looks to them and he smiles.

Thor lunges and pins his arms behind his back as Sif moves to tickle him, and Balder struggles, laughing loudly until he manages to get free, and then he trips Thor and lands him on the ground. Attempting to do the same to Sif affects her to pull him off the ground by the front of his tunic.

Sif is  _ strong _ .

“Thor.” Loki seems to _materialize_ beside him, and Thor shocks slightly, regarding the other man and blinking. “Father requires our presence.” He seems discomfited in some way or another, and Thor frowns. Sif allows Balder to touch the ground again, and Balder holds a hand out to Loki, his palm up.

Loki, for a moment or two, regards his brother fondly. Then he cups his hands over the other's palm, slowly spreading them out again and leaving a two-inch high kitten of stardust shining where it perches on Balder's skin. It pounces through the air and tumbles through until it hits Thor's chest and explodes into golden twinkles.

Balder smiles, but Loki's expression holds no new warmth. He moves to walk down the corridor, and Thor frowns, but he follows.

Loki hesitates before entering the room, but when Thor taps his lower back his brother does reluctantly move into the throne room to stand before their father. Thor stands beside him: both of them pose with their hands neatly held behind their backs, their shoulders squared and their chins raised. Thor keeps his cape carefully bundled  _ behind _ his back, in order that he gleans no comment from his father.

“My sons.” Odin says. Thor sees in the shining mirror of Odin's shield that Loki's gaze flicks to Frigga, away from their father. He makes no comment and draws no attention to the action. “Of the two of you I must make a request. I wish for you to quest to Midgard.”

“Midgard?” Loki repeats, and he stares at Odin, his brow furrowing, his lips pursing together.

“Yes.” Odin says, and his tone is all the sharper for the interruption. “There is a helmet, made of metal enchanted. It fell from the Bifrost many years ago, and now we require it back.”

“Why?” Thor asks, and Odin stares at him.

“Can you not quest for your father and trust him as you do?”

“Father,” Loki says. “He only asks in order that we might do better, and be quicker for your sake.” Thor wishes, sometimes, that his tongue was forged of such pliable, adapted silver as Loki's own. “With more information, we might complete this request without issue, that we might please you better.”

“You fear to complete a task _with_ issue?” Loki's seductive charm fades from his face, and he falters. Loki is a man adept at stepping in the violent waters one might call Odin's temper, but even the most graceful man will sometimes trip.

“No, Father, I meant only-”

“Shut your mouth, Loki, that we might not sew it so again.” His brother recoils, turning pallid, and then he looks to the ground. Thor clenches his jaw.

“Father, he is right.” Thor says. “With the story of this artefact-”

“It is hewn of black steel, and inlaid with gemstones of shining green. It repels all magic, and was lost several centuries ago. That is all the information you require. Armour yourselves: you will leave immediately.” Loki obeys immediately despite usually resenting to do so with ease, and Thor is certain enough it is at the threat of thread through his flesh again.

“Yes, Father.” Thor murmurs, and he follows.

He and Loki meet once again in the hallway, dressed in respective armour: Loki's is lighter than Thor's own, with leather and light metal rather than heavy plate. He wears no cape, and Thor can tell by the way he stands he no doubt has at least six blades on his person. His expression is uncertain, pinched, for a moment, until he schools it into an expression revealing no emotion at all.

“Are you ready?” Loki asks, and his lips twitch; a smirk belying confidence Loki does not feel comes to the other man's mouth.

“Aye.” Thor says, and they stride inside once more. The Allfather raises his chin; that is pride. “We are ready, Father.” Thor says, and Odin nods.

He looks to Loki, but Loki does not meet his gaze.

\---

“Heimdall.” Thor says, and he bows his head as Loki does the same. Heimdall looks at the both of them, his lips pressed together.

“You wish to utilize the Bifrost?” He asks, and Thor trusts him. Heimdall is stern, yes, but Thor trusts him.

“To Midgard.” Thor says, and Heimdall bows his head.

It is like flying, the burn in Thor's ears is loud as they fly through – he keeps his hand about his brother's wrist, holding as tightly as he can lest they separate, and they are  _ whistling.  _ Thor wonders, if one was to compare the whistle of one of Loki's enchanted daggers flying and them together, which would make the loudest noise.

They are thrown to the ground in the middle of the desert, and Loki lands on his feet: Thor is not so lucky, landing on his knees.

“How can you maintain such grace?” He asks, raising himself to his feet.

“Magic.” Loki replies as he looks around, and Thor isn't completely sure if he's joking or not. He follows Loki's gaze, and frowns: the desert goes on for mile after mile, except for a distant city to the east of their position. But it is not empty. “What are these?” Loki asks, and he moves forwards, spreading his hands over one of the panels.

It is perhaps seven feet across and made of metal and glass, its squared out pieces tilted up to the sky. There are thousands and thousands of them, neatly laid out in lines, and above them are sprawling hemispheres formed of transparent glass. These are larger, each with a diameter of thirty feet or so, and suspended on poles of similar glass.

“I don't know.” Thor murmurs, and he raps his knuckles on one of them, but nothing happens. “I know nothing of this place.”

“Nor I.” Loki says, and the words come from his own mouth, but they displease him. He looks toward the city in the distance, a barely-there, green silhouette against the empty desert sky. “To there?”

Thor nods.

They traverse the scape of panel after panel, moving slowly. “How will we find this helmet, then? Have you some spell or other?”

“For helmets whose origin the Allfather would not tell me? Alas, no.” Loki's sarcasm springs acid from his tongue, and Thor looks to him with a brotherly concern. “Through our verve and quick-thinking, we will find the helmet. Or at least, I will. While you might lack such capacities, you _do_ have your hammer.”

Thor shoves him and Loki laughs even as he falls to the side.

“I will hammer _you_ , brother.”

“And if I am hammered, how, pray, will _you_ find the helmet?”

“With my charm and attractive features.” Loki snorts, and they move onwards. Always there is some underlying tone that Thor feels from his brother – Loki always has no many secret plans, so many ulterior motives at once. Thor wonders, sometimes, if Loki truly feels any affection for him, or if he speaks to Thor only out of responsibility.

He believes that Loki loves him as Thor does Loki, and yet there is underlying suspicion.

“Brother.” Loki says, and his tone is soft and warm, but tense.

“Mm?” Thor is brought harshly from his reverie, and Loki points upwards. The projectile moving towards them is bright red and gold and it shines in the light, and at its centre was a blue pulse of something new. Different.

It makes Thor think of the Tesseract.

“Hey! You!” The projectile is a man of iron, and he has a face but it is freakish. Is this some sort of animated _doll_? On the side of his arms and his legs are small versions of the panels all about them, and he touches down in front of them. “What in the _Hell_ are you doing out here? How'd you get out here? Who are you?”

Thor looks at Loki, and Loki looks at Thor.

“We are travellers from a land distant, lost.” Loki says. “We would appreciate any assistance you might give-”

“Like Hell I'm believing _that._ ” The man of iron says, and before they know it he has grasped Loki and Thor both by the scruffs of their armour, and they are flying. Thor tries to struggle out of his grip, as does Loki, but they cannot when they are flown too high above the ground. They are strong, they are healthy: they are not invincible. 

“Who are you?” Loki yells over the scream and whistle of _air_ , and Thor is reminded of the sensation from the Bifrost – do the Midgardians travel like this often?

“I'm your fairy fucking godmother, assholes. Don't you see your _pumpkin?_ ” This man is a loon, and then the whistle of air is louder than ever.

When it stops, Loki and Thor touch down on a lush carpet of green grass, and Loki turns his head to the side, putting his forearm over his mouth as he takes in heavy breaths.

“You gonna be sick, kid?” Iron Man asks. Loki doesn't answer, but keeps breathing heavily, trying to control himself. He moves forwards, through an archway of deep green, and the suit is removed from him.

Thor tears his gaze from his brother to look around.

They are on the top of a high building, and all about them are dozens and dozens of similar height: each has the same green-grass roof, and most have a glass bubble over their tops like the strange hemispheres in the desert. The architecture is unfamiliar, shining with gold and silver and light blue tiles where tiles are visible, for plants overgrow  _ everything. _

From building to building run glass runs – pathways formed of silver bridges, and they are covered with the glass. “Man of Iron, what purpose does that glass serve?”

His iron suit is gone, and he is rapidly pressing his thumbs to some sort of device in his hands. A toy? No, his face changes as he jabs at its surface – a communication device, Thor thinks. He ignores Thor in favour of that.

“Brother?” Thor speaks quietly, and Loki stands, breathing in slowly. “Are you well?”

“I am fine.” Loki says, and he looks to the Iron Man. “To whom am I speaking? Why have you brought us here?”

“You guys damaged SHIELD solar panels and some of mine. _You_ are answering the questions here.” The man says sharply, and he drops his communication device aside. “Inside.” They obey because it is a foreign land, and this is as good a fashion to learn as any.

They are unbound, and they are free to escape, if necessary.

“Hey, bro.” says the handsome blond man as they enter.

“Tony.” says the beautiful woman with hair of flame beside him.

Their presence apparently upsets the Iron Man, because he begins to huff and puff in their direction. “How the Hell did you get in here?” The attractive pair look at each other, look back at the Iron Man, and shrug as one.

“Coulson said so.” They say as one.

“I'm not happy about it either. I was working.” She says, and he adds, “And I was working out.” She turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow.

The handsome man clears his throat, and admits, “I was watching TV and eating Cheetos.” What is TV? What are Cheetos? What does “working out” mean? “But they were low-cal!” It's like they're speaking a completely foreign language. Thor looks at Loki, but he looks equally confused.

“So. Who're the weirdos? Why you dressed like that?” The handsome man asks. Thor frowns. Loki slithers forwards, and he moves close to the handsome man, examining him.

“My name is Loki, and this is my brother, Thor.” He says, and the handsome man frowns at him, thoughtful. “I will answer _your_ questions.” He speaks smoothly, and Thor is relatively certain his brother has plans to bed this man. “We are dressed in this way because it is our custom. Why are _you_ dressed like _that_?”

“It's my custom. Clint Barton.” He holds out a hand, and Loki looks at it for a moment before he takes it, shaking the other's hand politely. Clint looks to the redhead, who is amused, and the Iron Man, who looks a mix of confused and completely offended.

Loki's hand lingers on Clint's as he draws it slowly away.

“Loki and Thor?” The Iron Man says, and he looks between them, raising his eyebrows. “What, Odin's asshole kids?”

Both of them turn to stare the Iron Man.

“You know of our father?”

“You know Odin Allfather?” Thor glances at Loki, discomfited by the lack of affection in the question, and the Iron Man groans.

“They're crazy!” He complains to Clint Barton and his shorter, lady friend. “They're-” The Iron Man flies across the room, pulled by a golden thread of Loki's magic, and Loki stares at him with a snarl to his lips Thor is more familiar with than he would like to be.

“Man of Iron, of all the things I am, crazy does not appear upon the list. _Tell_ me. How do you know of the Allfather?” The Iron Man stares up at him, and then he looks at the golden thread upon his shirt. 

“Oh, _shit._ ” He mutters, and Thor moves to stand beside his brother.

 


End file.
